Sheltered by a Scarecrow
by imagineyourownworld
Summary: Book I of The Flickers of Sanity Trilogy: 'Don't you see,' came his voice, deep and rough. Unrecognisable. It caused a lump in her throat. No, she didn't see—she didn't want to see anything. Especially not the burlap mask that hid the handsome face she had traced, had memorised lovingly every single night they had spent together. 'Everything I have done—all of this is for you.'
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I don't own anything relating to Batman.

* * *

******The Flickers of Sanity Trilogy  
**Book I

**Sheltered by a Scarecrow**

_Prologue_

Bruce Wayne, at ten years of age, was a curious little boy. He wished to know everything, and was unafraid to question the puzzling world around him: 'Where does the moon go during the day,' was a favourite of his to ask his patient, loyal butler, and another, 'Why can't I feed the plants, Alfred? They _must _be starving, you only ever give them water!' At the end of most days Bruce would leave the old man exasperated and in dire need of a long, relaxing bath.

It was this same curiosity that caused Bruce to pause mid-step as his ears caught the familiar, muffled voice of Alfred conversing with a deep, unrecognisable voice behind the partially closed door of one of the smaller of the eight guest sitting rooms that the Wayne household held. Bruce had no qualms about his next actions: he crept up close to the doorway, strained his little ears, and peered into the small gap.

Bruce spotted Alfred immediately. The greying man stood rigidly behind an old-fashioned, floral patterned armchair. The second, unknown man stood beside an elegantly designed, built-in coal fireplace. Flames crackled merrily behind its tiled hearth. Bruce breathed in deeply, he had always loved the thick smell of coal burning. The man was tall with a large mass of black, untamed curls that fell just short of his shoulders. He stood with his back to the doorway.

Bruce then felt the tension in the room.

Bruce had learnt over his short years that it took a lot to anger his beloved butler. Yes, Alfred could be quick to irritate if one knew which buttons to press, and his wit was sharp enough to cut deeply at times, but the ten year old found he struggled to recall a time where Alfred had truly lost control of his temper. But judging from the ticking jaw, the tight-lipped frown and the white-knuckled hold on the back of the chair, the man, whoever he was, had brought out a rare display of rage from Alfred.

Bruce decided then that he very much disliked the unknown man.

'How can you do such a thing?' Alfred was asking, and from where Bruce stood just beyond the butler's vision, it sounded like a poisonous hiss. 'You said you were _ready—_'

'Alfred, please try to understand,' the tall man pleaded, his broad shoulders slumped, 'I-I thought I was ready, I _did_, but I'm not—I'm _really_ not. I can't do it. I have my whole life—my whole career in front of me!'

Alfred was unsympathetic. 'You should have thought of that before being so irresponsible. It's only been _five days_.'

The man just curled further into himself.

'And Catherine,' Alfred continued, 'what does she have to say about this? Surely she doesn't agree with this, this—' here, he struggled to find the right words, '—selfish idiocy. Neither of you can just abandon this kind of responsibility. I assumed she actually had a head on her shoulders.'

The dark haired man shrugged uselessly, and Bruce watched the way the expensive material of the man's white collard shirt stretched as the shoulders lifted. He hesitated before replying. 'She feels the same way.' At the butler's repugnant grunt, the other man hastened to add, 'It's true, Alfred. Please try to see it from our prospective. We may loose so much if we go through with this. I'm so close to gaining my PhD, and Catherine has just been accepted a good job, the job of her dreams_._ We can't just give all that up. A baby would completely ruin the life we've worked so hard to build. I'm just sorry we realised it too late.'

Alfred's head fell tiredly into his awaiting palms and they cradled his aching head gently. He then heaved out a long, suffering sigh. He stayed that way for a moment, and Bruce took the opportunity to shuffle closer to the door. Bruce rested his hand carefully against the mahogany door, the wood smooth and cool under his delicate touch, and placed just enough pressure on the door to push it open half an inch more. The door didn't make a sound.

Now with a clearer view of the scene, Bruce watched as his butler ran the heels of his palms roughly over his haggard features and sighed a second time. When Alfred lifted his head next, his usual kind, sarcastic eyes were cold and sharp like a dagger ready to strike. They showed no mercy.

'Why have you brought her here, Douglas?' His tone held no tolerance for nonsense. He just wanted the truth.

As though her little ears were burning, a small, high-pitched gurgle emitted from somewhere within the room. The sound caused the man—Douglas—to flinch at such an angle that a small patch of pink cloth and head full of short, dark hair became visible to Bruce for a moment, before her father hastily straightened, hiding her behind his frame once more. Douglas cleared his throat, embarrassed.

Bruce physically started, flabbergast he hadn't noticed the baby sooner, and the jump jolted the hand against the door. The door flew open, yielding to the sudden pressure, and banged loudly against the wall.

Startled, both men swivelled to face the intruder. The baby in Douglas' arms gave a tiny squeak, but otherwise stayed quiet, and her father seemed utterly grateful for it.

Bruce could think of nothing to say to the occupants of the small room. At that moment he was much too flustered and disappointed at his lack of spying skills. So he instead chose to smile bashfully at Alfred, his childish face smoothed over in feigned innocence. Alfred could only roll his eyes in response. Bruce's eyes then immediately sought out the infant cradled in her fathers arms, and all he could do was stare, transfixed.

She was so tiny.

'Ah,' Douglas started, nervous. 'You must be Bruce, the little owner of this huge house.'

If Bruce had been paying attention, he might have noticed how Douglas' smile was just a little too large to be genuine; but he wasn't, so he didn't. His hazel eyes were still fixed unflinchingly on the little girl.

The boy couldn't claim to be an expert when it came to children, he was an only child, after all, but he was positive Douglas was holding his daughter in the most ridiculously awkward position imaginable.

He held his child much too loosely in his arms and away from his body, as though he couldn't bare her any closer; neither did either of his arms cradle her head, instead her head lolled to one side where she seemed content to gaze at the aged ornaments that lined the mantelpiece above the fireplace; and the pink baby blanket had been wrapped around her little form so tightly it looked suffocating. The man clearly hadn't a clue how to hold a baby.

'You must introduce us, Alfred,' Bruce heard Douglas command. 'Since I'm sure his father told him next to nothing about me.' He sniffed, as though insulted.

Bruce froze at the mention of his late father. And then the pain was back again.

It always came back.

Alfred made his way around the armchair and sneered out, 'Master Bruce, this is Master Douglas Wayne, your uncle.'

Bruce turned his gaze to the man and in an instant he was eight years old again, looking up into his father's dark, smiling eyes. The same eyes he had watched dim in unjust death, the same eyes that willed themselves to hold onto some form of comfort, that endeavoured to wait until the very last, shuddered breath before closing for the last time, leaving a little boy lost and alone, frightened and heartbroken. But, _no_, they were not his father's eyes. The eyes before him lacked the tenderness, the comfort his father's had always held just for him. They had always made him feel special.

The ache in his chest inflamed his entire body, reaching to the very tips of his fingers and toes. He felt as if he had just walked into the coiling flames of the fireplace. This was not his father. The face was too young, too narrow. His fathers hair was always cut neat and short, he _never _had curls. He wasn't as tall, either. There was no pride behind the smile directed at him.

It wasn't his father. It would never be his father again. ___Never_.

Douglas, thankfully, was not an observant man. He stepped into Bruce's personal space and bent his head to be level with the young boy.

Bruce fought to keep his breath as the eyes so much like his fathers, yet unlike them too, came closer. Too close.

'And this,' Douglas announced and gestured with a nod of his head to the bundle in his arms. Bruce struggled to hear him over the resounding _thump thump thump_ of his heartbeat. 'Is your cousin.' He stretched his arms out towards Bruce, presenting her to him.

Bruce didn't respond. He couldn't have even if he wanted to.

The false grin on the older man's face wavered as the silence stretched on, and he shifted from foot to foot, visibly uncomfortable, until he forced his child into Bruce's chest. Bruce's arms instinctively curled around the small body—_correctly_—but his wide, apprehensive eyes couldn't tear themselves away from Douglas.

'Well, if you'll just, uh, take her, there's a good lad... maybe you two can, I don't know, bond, or something.' He suggested awkwardly as he backed away from the children.

Bruce could just barely muster up the effort it took to look away from the disconcerting features of his newly acquainted uncle. His unblinking eyes instead turned to the alien weight in his arms, and locked onto two wide, astonishingly blue eyes that stared up at him with a curiosity to rival his own. And, slowly, he began to take comfort in the familiar personality trait they seemed to share. There was a light to her azure eyes; he felt as though it was there just for him, to console him. The pain suddenly wasn't so intense any more.

She was a pretty little thing, for a baby. Everything about her was so _small._ She had a tiny button nose that was scrunched up cutely, and big, chubby cheeks and a fine patch of dark hair that stood up at all angles on top of her head. She had an adorable, toothless smile that latched onto his bruised, hurting heart with an unyielding hold.

Bruce had to smile at her. _You're special, aren't you?_

His uncle would be a fool to let her go.

Bruce found he drew strength from the little girl's smile; or enough, at least, to turn to the man so like his dear father. The resemblance still managed to knock the breath out of him.

'She's...' Bruce managed, if a little weakly, 'cute.'

As if agreeing, the child in his arms gave a satisfied 'mmm'.

'Oh yes, yes. She is, isn't she?' Douglas agreed with an eager nod of his head, his curls bouncing around his youthful, clean shaven face.

Bruce was gradually becoming annoyed. His uncle had the tendency to talk to him like he was no older than the infant wrapped up in his arms. While, admittedly, Bruce had no interest in the affairs of his company—he had never really taken to the idea of running a company, not even when his parents were alive, but perhaps he would when he was older—he could feel the lack of respect the man before him held, and for the first time in his life wanted to demand someone their regard; he was the _owner _of Wayne's Enterprises, he was the _owner_ of the mansion Douglas' presence was currently infecting. He was a Wayne; he was born respected.

But Bruce said nothing, so Douglas continued to talk. 'And, if you're really lucky, Alfred will agree to look after her for a while, so you two can play whenever you want.'

'Excuse me?' Alfred finally exploded. 'Is _that _why your here? To leave your daughter with us?'

Bruce's own lips thinned. His annoyance was beginning to crumble into something darker. Not only did his uncle want to leave his defenceless child with distant family members, one of whom he had never met, but he continued to disrespect the family that would be bringing up his child by not involving the master of the house in the decision. Despite his age, Bruce knew he had the final say in this situation.

The girl deserved a better father, honestly.

Douglas winced at Alfred's raised voice and Bruce suspected he saw slightest hint of shame colour his cheekbones.

The reluctant father stood by his decision, however. 'Alfred, I've told you, Catherine and I can't have her, at least not for now. Maybe after a couple of years, if we're both ready, we can take her back off your hands. That's why we thought of you, Alfred. We will always know where she is—here—in case we decide to have her. Otherwise we'd have no choice but to put her into a foster home. Could you imagine how much harder it would be to find her if she went into foster care?'

Alfred could only splutter in response.

Bruce pulled the baby closer to him, tucking her safely into his thin chest where she fit nicely. An emotion overtook him as Douglas rambled on, a feeling he had never felt with such ferocity before. He wanted to protect her. He wanted to protect her from the one person she should always feel secure with—as he had with his own father.

'But, I—you, you can't just—' Alfred stumbled over his words, he was utterly incredulous.

'Of course I can. You would make things so much easier for Catherine and myself. And remember, it's highly unlikely you'll have her forever. Just help us out for a bit. Please, Alfred, you're our only option.'

In three strides Alfred was toe to toe with the taller man. The butler's lip was curled back in revulsion. 'You, Douglas Edmund Wayne, are a selfish bastard.' Bruce had never heard Alfred curse before, except for the occasional 'bloody hell' when he dropped something. 'That is your _daughter,_ not some toy you get to play with whenever it suits _you. _She needs you—for Christ sake, man, the child is only a few of days old! She shouldn't be from her mother's side.'

Alfred paused then and his brows furrowed. He considered his next words, then said, 'You haven't even told me her name.' Silence followed the statement, and Bruce's eyes widened at the implication. 'You haven't named her, have you?' Alfred whispered in disbelief.

Douglas hesitated. 'Alfred—'

'What is wrong with you?' Alfred bellowed. The butler retreated, as though he couldn't stand to be near Douglas any longer. 'You constantly bring nothing but shame to the Wayne family.' Alfred accused. He couldn't even look at him. 'But I never thought you could—that you... That is your child, your child who you haven't even _bothered to name—'_

'Now look here, Alfred,' Douglas interrupted, his voice raised for the first time. 'Her mother and I love her very much. We're just thinking about what's best for her.'

'What's _best—?'_

'Yes,' Douglas replied with force. 'I'm sure here, with you, Alfred, is where she needs to be. We haven't got it in us, Alfred. We can't bring her up, we haven't got what it takes. But I know you have.' His head lowered as he continued, 'If you don't take her I really will have to put her into a foster home and I'll never see her again. At least here we'll know where she is.' His head shot up here, his eyes wide as he implored, 'You wouldn't deny a child the chance to meet her parents one day, would you?'

Alfred reared back as though he had been hit and he inhaled sharply through clenched teeth. He spat, 'Of all the lowly, filthy cards to pull.'

While the two men fought, Bruce watched the nameless baby. Bruce was fascinated with her, it was as if the child was reacting to the atmosphere in the room. She seemed to be acutely aware of her surroundings.

As their voices rose, she became more and more distressed. Her face scrunched up and her mouth opened sightly, though no sound was uttered. She began to squirm and wriggle in the confines of her blanket, so Bruce tugged at the constricting material, and two little arms shot out the moment room was made for freedom. She balled her hands into the tiniest fists he had ever seen, one reaching up over her head and the other raising to her mouth, where she nibbled at the clenched hand, upset.

_She's such a quite thing, _Bruce observed.

Instinctively, Bruce began to rock her. Her big, tear filled eyes stared up at him, and Bruce felt as though he was under intense scrutiny.

Her face relaxed as the rocking continued. The fist above her head opened lazily and began to wave insistently under his nose. 'Ah,' she moaned, and somehow Bruce knew what she was asking for.

He lifted his right arm and her swinging hand stopped instantly in anticipation. Bruce held his larger hand less than a hair's breath away from her own, and the child latched onto his index finger with both hands. Her eyes narrowed on his finger, crossing at its closeness. Bruce stared at their clasped hands; her fingers couldn't quite reach all the way around his finger. He felt something warm in the pit of his heart then, making it twist and turn as the warmth grew, and he let out a trembling breath.

Perhaps it was just him—she was only a baby after all, she surely didn't have a clue what was going on around her—but he felt a bond form between them in that moment. And he was, surprisingly, elated at the thought. He suddenly didn't feel quite so alone any more.

_Maybe,_ he hoped innocently,_ you could fill the hole my parents left when they died._

The girl's eyes, startlingly blue, raised to meet his own again, and she squeezed his finger, and he almost laughed. He couldn't get over how weak she was. She would definitely need protecting.

He really wanted to be the one to protect her.

The other two occupants in the room were still bickering amongst themselves when Bruce lifted his head, his finger still trapped between his cousin's hands, his features creased with determination—the same impulsive determination that would follow him stubbornly into his adulthood.

'Alfred.' Bruce injected into the conversation, and Alfred paused at the tone.

Bruce turned to address his idiotic uncle. He painted a vivid picture of his father in his mind to help gather his courage, because he knew his decision would change his, Alfred's and the baby's lives forever, then adopted an authoritative voice he had never before used to declare, 'I'm willing to take your child into my home and care for her for as long as you need.'

Alfred and Douglas stared at the little boy, stunned into silence.

The silence was deafening in the room, to the point where Bruce's ears tingled and it felt as if cotton wool had been shoved into his ears. But he didn't waver in the slightest, he instead jutted out his chin, stubborn in his decision.

'M-Master Bruce,' Alfred stuttered, the first to recover. 'You cannot be serious?'

Bruce tilted his chin higher in the air. 'I am.'

Douglas blinked rapidly, then smiled widely, showing rows of straight, unnaturally white teeth. 'Excellent.' He clapped his hands together, much too happy for a parent loosing their first born. He advanced on Bruce and patted the boy on the shoulder. 'Thank you for this, my young nephew. My brother would be very proud of you right now, helping out your dear uncle and cousin when they most desperately need it.'

As much as Bruce couldn't stand the man before him, he wished Douglas was right. He would do anything to make his father and his mother proud of him, anything to ease the guilt he felt at his cowardice that led to the event that ended with them lying side by side in an early grave.

'Now wait!' Alfred shouted and rounded on his young master. 'Are you absolutely sure about this, Master Bruce? This child is going to change _everything_ around here—I don't think you realise just how much.'

The child let go of Bruce's finger then, and he glanced down at her as she curled into his chest, yawning. Her eyes fluttered closed, her breathing evened. If Bruce could see himself in that moment, he might have commented on how the softness in his eyes reminded him of the way his father had once looked at him.

When Bruce spoke next, it was from the heart. 'Where else will she go? I don't care how much she'll change things, Alfred. I want her here. With us.'

Alfred stared hard at him then, searching, for what Bruce didn't know, and it felt like an eternity before he seemed to find what he was looking for. The butler sighed his acceptance and nodded his head. 'If you're sure, Master Bruce, then I'll be happy to welcome her into your home.'

Douglas' shoulders slumped, as though he had been carrying a weight on his shoulders for the entire conversation that had only just been lifted. His voice was gentler when he spoke next, and was directed at both Alfred and Bruce. 'Thank you.'

If Bruce were any less polite, he would have snapped: 'This isn't for you, I'm going this for the child you're abandoning.' But he was brought up with manners and restraint, so instead he acknowledged the expression of gratitude with a humble nod of his head. Alfred chose to pretend he hadn't heard.

Douglas' gaze turned to the daughter he had just given away, and he faltered. He took a cautious step forward, towards the baby, and he was suddenly in reaching distance. His hand lifted and crept near the sleeping child, then hovered next to her. Softly, he rested his hand against her warm, rosy cheek and stayed that way for a while, staring down at her with an expressionless face.

Then he was retreating, patting down his clothes as though looking for something. 'I really must be off,' he said, clearing his throat. 'It was lovely meeting you, Bruce.'

'You too, uncle Douglas.' Bruce replied falsely.

Douglas turned to Alfred then and continued, 'And Alfred: it's always a pleasure.' He paused for a moment, before adding quietly, 'Look after her for me, old friend.'

'I will,' Alfred reassured, if a little reluctantly. It was Alfred's turn to hesitate then, before the older man enquired, 'Would you like to keep in touch? Even just talking to her over the phone—when she learns to talk, that is—will save your daughter a lot of heartache and questions later on in life.'

Douglas paused for far too long. When he did answer, he stumbled over his words, flustered. 'Well, I, I—I guess, but then, oh—Well, I don't see, see the harm.'

'Good, if I could just write down your number—'

'Oh, no,' Douglas was loud in his protest. 'There's no need for that, I've got yours. I'll phone you later on tonight to see how things have gone. But now I _really_ must be going.'

Douglas was by the door now, and Alfred just sighed at his response. 'Well, then, I'll see you to the front door.'

'No,' Douglas insisted. 'I'll see myself out. I know where the door is.'

He took one last, lingering look around the room, his eyes straying from Alfred, to Bruce, then to his daughter. He stared long and hard, then breathed in deeply. 'Goodbye.' He whispered, and Bruce and Alfred knew the farewell wasn't for either of them. Douglas then turned, and walked through the open doorway and out of sight.

He didn't look back.

There was a stifling stillness in the sitting room after Douglas' abrupt exit, broken minutes later by a disheartened shake of Alfred's head and a snarl in the direction Douglas had flown from.

'Fool.'

And then there was another pause in the room.

Bruce was the one to uncover the blanket of silence next, and when he spoke, his voice was small, uncertain. It wasn't the voice of Bruce Wayne, owner of a multi-billion dollar company, the voice he had used on his incompetent uncle; he was just a little lost boy once more.

'Do you think he'll phone, Alfred?'

Alfred turned to face his young Master and was left winded at the childish innocence etched on Bruce's face. His smile was small, but optimistic. The older man realised he hadn't seen that look since the day of his parents death, and didn't have the heart to tell him the truth. 'I'm sure he will, Master Bruce. I'm sure he will.'

Satisfied with his friends answer, Bruce cradled the sleeping child closer to him.

Bruce watched Alfred run his hands through his greying hair and straighten his immaculate uniform, and knew from their close relationship that the actions were clear signals that Alfred felt out of his depth. Alfred cleared his throat, another nervous habit of his, then spoke. 'I must get supplies for her.' He held out his hands towards Bruce. 'Allow me, Master.'

Bruce held his cousin closer and shook his head. 'No. I want to hold her.'

'Please, Master Bruce, she needs—'

'—a name!' Bruce finished, his eyes alight with excitement. He flopped down on the couch that matched the patterned armchair beside it, jolting the child awake. She gave a loud, startled cry.

'Hush,' Bruce placated. 'We're going to give you a name now.'

The baby settled at his cooing voice.

'Master Bruce.' Alfred warned.

Bruce ignored him. 'Think of some girl names, Alfred. And they have to be pretty names.' Bruce pursed his lips. 'Natalie? No, you're not a Natalie. Adele? No, not pretty enough.'

He heard his butler sigh, conceding to his Master's wishes. 'What about Margaret?' He supplied.

Bruce's face scrunched up in distaste, and he gave Alfred a reprimanding look, as if to say he wasn't taking the situation seriously enough. '_Margaret?_ She's not a hundred years old, Alfred. No, you'll have to try harder.'

'Well, then, what about Matilda?'

Bruce's eyes raised to the ceiling, contemplating the name, then shook his head. 'No.'

'No? Why not?'

'It just... doesn't suit her. Amanda?'

'No, Master Bruce, I've never been a fan of that name, personally.'

'Your right, me too.' Bruce's teeth pulled on his bottom lip as he thought. He gazed at the child, squinting his eyes. A pretty name. That's what she needed. A pretty, but simple name. Like her. 'Hannah?' He whispered softly, and the girl's heavy lidded eyes shot to his face. Bruce smiled then. 'Hannah. Hannah Wayne.' Bruce turned to Alfred for his opinion, but he had all ready decided. Her name would be Hannah Wayne, and she would become the sibling Bruce had always wanted.

Alfred was smiling gently at the child, the lines of his face softened. He nodded in agreement. 'Miss Hannah Wayne. Pretty, simple, yet memorable. It's the perfect name for her, Master Bruce.'

They grinned at each other, their moods lightened, when an ear-piercing cry erupted from Hannah. Bruce leapt to his feet in a panic, and the rushed words left his mouth before he could register their meaning, 'I didn't do _anything, _I_ swear—'_

Alfred let out a bark of laughter. 'I've got this funny feeling I'll be hearing that a lot from you over the next couple of years. Hand her over, if you will, Master.'

This time Bruce let Hannah go willingly. The moment she left his arms his hands flew to his abused ears. He couldn't fathom how such a small thing could cause such a powerful noise. Had he honestly thought she was quiet?

Alfred cradled her fragile body over his shoulder and lightly patted her back. He made cooing noises in the back of his throat and swayed back and forth, but it did nothing to lessen her wailing.

'Alfred, it's not working, what are you—?'

He was cut off by a burp. Then there was silence.

_Blissful_ silence.

Bruce warily dropped his hands from his delicate ears.

Alfred seemed thoroughly pleased with himself as he lifted Hannah off his shoulder and settled her warmly into his practised embrace. He raised a challenging eyebrow at the younger boy. 'Are you sure you're up to this, Master Bruce? It's only going to get harder.' Alfred warned.

Bruce took in Hannah's softened features and heavy eyelids. Alfred was right. It was going to be very difficult with a baby around, but he wanted her there with them. 'I want to hold her again.'

Once she was back in his arms, Hannah immediately curled into him.

Bruce decided she would be worth any hardship.

He sat down again as Alfred murmered, mostly to himself, 'I should really go and get some supplies for her now—she's going to need so much; food, clothes, somewhere to sleep. We should still have your old cot somewhere. I'll get the maids to run into the city right away.' He backed towards the door. 'Will you be okay with her by yourself? I shouldn't be too long.'

Bruce smiled in reassurance. 'We'll be fine.'

As Alfred turned to leave, Bruce called out to him. 'Wait.'

'Yes, Master Bruce?'

Bruce couldn't look the loyal butler in the eyes. He was afraid at what he might find there. 'Are... are you mad? That I want to keep Hannah.'

Alfred was quiet. Bruce, fearing the worst, glanced up at him, but felt more at ease when he saw the smile that stretched across Alfred's face. 'Can't say I'm not surprised. And in shock.' He started, thoughtful. 'But it was a very kind thing of you to do, Master Bruce. I'm proud of you. Besides, I've missed you being that small. It'll be nice to have a baby in the house again. Makes it feel like more of a home, wouldn't you say?'

Bruce smiled, grateful to have the wonderful man before him.

Alfred hovered by the door for a moment longer. 'All right, I shouldn't be long.' He repeated. He found the doorknob and pulled the door shut after his retreating form. The door clicked shut and Bruce listened for the butler's footsteps as they faded down the hallway.

Bruce waited a minute longer, then when he could finally convince himself that Alfred was not coming back any time soon, the dam of tears he had kept at bay since he first glanced into his uncle's eyes burst forth. He sobbed over the child in his arms, tremors viciously racking his small frame, and he rocked his body backwards and forwards. He stuck his thumb in his mouth because he didn't know how else to quieten his keening.

It wasn't _fair. _He couldn't get a moments peace from the consuming pain, and the meeting with his uncle today had only torn at the wound that had barely begun to heal. Bruce whimpered around his thumb, and his breathing stuttered for a moment as he gasped for breath. _Those eyes_. For a short time he had actually believed his father had been standing before him, _alive_, and it felt like he had lost him all over again when he remembered. Even after two years the guilt still weighed heavily on his weak shoulders and it wore him down.

And that _bastard_ gets to live, safe and comfortable behind bars without a care in the world. Unaware, or more likely, uncaring to the unfixable damaged he had caused to one little boy.

A cry broke through his mournful haze and his weeping came to an abrupt halt. He opened his eyes and stared at the crying baby enfolded in his arms. Bruce took a couple of steadying breaths, his throat raw and aching, and gently shushed the child in his arms.

Bruce swayed her with a gentleness he didn't know he possessed. 'I'm sorry,' he choked out, 'I didn't mean to make you cry.' His sobbing had ceased, but tears continued to escape his tired eyes. Hannah began to quieten at the low rumble of his voice. 'It's okay,' he whispered for himself as much as for her. 'It's okay.' They stared into each other's damp eyes, and Hannah muttered another little, 'Ah.' The light was back in her eyes and Bruce smiled tenderly.

'It's okay. We have each other now.'

* * *

A/N: This is a Crane/OC/Scarecrow pairing, for those who haven't figured it out yet. This is just me tinkering around with my version of Jonathan Crane, and I'm already having a lot of fun. I'm actually really excited about this fanfiction since I'm a huge fan of Batman. Also, please take note of the rating, things will get steamy later on, and the story will get a lot darker.

I should also mention this trilogy is going to take place over Nolan's entire Batman trilogy. So the Joker and Bane will be making appearances.

If you actually managed to get to the bottom of this page, well bloody done! Please review, I'd love to hear your thoughts.

-imagineyourownworld


	2. The First Kidnapping

_Chapter 1:  
The First Kidnapping_

Hannah was just turning seven when she experienced her first kidnapping attempt.

The day had started out pleasant enough. Alfred had come blustering into her bedroom earlier than usual, his cherished tea tray forever in hand, while whistling a chipper tune. There was a skip to his step as he strode over to the bedside table and placed the tray on top of the table's polished surface. With an especially high-pitched whistle, he turned on his heel and gripped the rooms heavy laden curtains and parted them with a strong tug. The early morning sunlight was strong and streamed through the large, unveiled pane windows; the glaring rays brightened the pastoral pink walls of the bedroom, and earned an indignant whine from somewhere under a cocoon consisting of pillows and duvets.

Alfred chuckled at the predictable sound. 'Come on, come on, up, up, up.' He chanted and stepped towards the king sized bed. 'You're up bright and early today, Miss Hannah. You expressed your wish to go to the park with Nanny Mary Margaret before your birthday tomorrow, remember? Well, this morning is the only time she'll be able to take you out, I'm afraid.'

Another groan emitted from the bundle in the middle of the bed.

Alfred rolled his eyes. 'Wake up, Miss Hannah.' He gave the pony patterned covers a light nudge. 'It's a beautiful morning,' he said invitingly.

Nothing.

It was always a trying experience for Alfred to try and get Hannah out of bed before eleven o'clock. She was not a morning person.

'All right,' he said flippantly. 'If you won't cooperate, we'll do this the hard way.'

Then, with a bewilderingly agile sweep of his body for a man his age, Alfred bent over the cocoon and yanked at the bedclothes. Pillows flew haphazardly. A girlish shriek burst forth from the curled form of the once hidden girl, which was soon replaced by a batch of fruitlessly stifled girlish giggles. Alfred grinned at the lovely sound as he dropped the duvet on the spotless carpet. He would pick it up later. Right now he had more pressing matters to attend to.

'Miss Hannah.' He warned in a playful tone.

'No!' Hannah groused, unable to keep the smile from her face. 'Too early.' She buried her head into her mattress—since her pillows had just up and vanished—in a failed attempt to hide her persistent smile.

'You have one last chance. Get up willingly or I shall have to force you out of that bed.'

Her body curled into a tighter ball in defiance, her small shoulders shaking from suppressed laughter.

'That's it!' Alfred cried dramatically and dove for the little girl, his nimble fingers latching onto either side of her upper body as he tickled her mercilessly. Hannah screeched and laughed and wriggled around on her bed, her cheeks flushed red and her azure eyes sparkling with tears of mirth. Her laugh was loud and came from her belly; it was quite unusual for anyone other than Bruce to evoke such a carefree laugh from Hannah—not that she wasn't a buoyant child, she was very happy and animated, but she was slightly demure, mostly around strangers, although Hannah hardly ever got the chance to meet anyone outside the small circle of family and members of staff that resided in the Wayne household.

Hannah slapped at one of the withered hands. She gasped for breath, her eyes squeezed shut, and cried, 'Get away, you old fart!'

_'Old fart?'_ Alfred pretended to be affronted. 'I'll have you know I'm a distinguished older gentleman.'

'Yeah, distinguished in years!'

'I think you mean _extinguished_, Miss.'

'Oh, whatever!' She laughed out. 'Just stop, Alfred!'

He conceded.

Alfred straightened as she caught her breath on the bed, her smile so wide he wondered whether her cheeks where hurting. He had to snicker behind his hand at the sight.

Alfred honestly wouldn't know what he would do without Hannah and Bruce to brighten up his days. His entire world revolved around them. He was happy only when they were, and he ached when they were upset. They were the first thing he thought of when he opened his eyes every morning and the last thing he thought of as he drifted off to sleep at night. He worried about them when they weren't around; cared for them when they were ill; encouraged them to be all they can be. And he wouldn't have it any other way.

He loved the spoilt Wayne siblings like they were his own.

'Would you like to know what Nanny Mary Margaret told me just before coming to wake you up?' Alfred asked. As much as Alfred disliked being near the flirtatious Nanny, he couldn't help but be impressed by the old coot, she always knew just how to manipulate a situation to her advantage. Hannah was no different; she took the bait, nodding enthusiastically. 'She told me that if you get up now like a good girl, she'll allow me to give you the birthday present she handmade _especially _for you right now.'

That did the trick.

With an excited squeal, Hannah shot into a sitting position, her long locks, messy and knotted from a night of twisting and turning in her dreams, flew into her face, and she bounced in her spot, suddenly full of energy. 'I _really_ get to open a present before my birthday, Alfred?' Her question was rushed from her enthusiastic vigor.

Alfred didn't respond. Instead, he walked towards her bedroom door, opened it and bent to retrieve Hannah's neatly packaged present from where it leaned against the wall in the hallway, complete with a royal purple, velvet ribbon expertly knotted into a complicated bow. When he entered the bedroom next he found Hannah standing in the middle of her bed, her eyes alight with curiosity. He could see she was barely able to contain her excitement, her little hands held fists full of the silk material belonging to her ankle-length nightdress in an attempt to keep her hands from lunging at the beautifully wrapped gift.

'For you, Miss.' Alfred presented the large present to the young girl with a small, playful bow. Hannah reached out and opened and closed her fingers in a grabbing gesture. With an amused grin, Alfred handed her the present and she squealed happily once more as she dropped into a cross-legged position, balancing her gift on top of her knees. She went to rip the wrapping to shreds when Alfred's admonishing, 'Ah-ah-ah,' caused her to wait—albeit very reluctantly.

'Are you not even going to read the card before you tear it open like a savage, Miss Hannah?'

Hannah pursed her lips but nodded all the same.

She delicately removed the card from it's place beneath the ribbon. The front of the card was exquisite; the words Happy Birthday were composed in elegant calligraphy across the top of the white background and a uniquely designed butterfly was frozen in mid-flight in the middle of the card. A rose red organdie ribbon was wrapped around the front of the card in a neat bow. Hannah cooed in delight, touching the butterfly gently, then opened the card with care. Without any prompting, Hannah read from the card aloud:

_'To Miss Hannah Wayne,_

_I would very much like for you to wear my gift for our stroll in the park. I want your utmost beauty to shine through today so I may show off my beautiful young charge to all—'_

Hannah gasped here and her head shot to Alfred. Her eyes were wide, as though she couldn't believe someone had written such a compliment about her. She then rushed to finish the rest of the letter.

_'—____I wish you a very happy birthday for tomorrow, and again I apologise deeply that I will not be there to celebrate with you. _

_With much love,_

_Nanny Mary Margaret  
__x'_

Hannah grinned, pleased, and placed the card to one side. She then turned pleading eyes to the butler and enquired impatiently, 'Can I open my present now?'

'You may.'

'Yes!'

Hannah's hands flew for her present, giving herself no time to admire the carefully designed wrapping, and yanked hastily at the bow. Once the ribbon was off, she ripped at the flowery wrapping paper, tearing chunks off at a time. She was soon surrounded in the shredded paper, and when she finally got to the large white box beneath, she didn't waste a second as she threw the top off the box. She then paused, stunned, before she reached in and lifted a folded dress from the box, and hugged it to her.

'It's so pretty,' Hannah whispered, her mouth open in awe. Then she was climbing to her knees, the box tumbling off her bed to the floor, forgotten. '_Look_, Alfred! Look how _pretty_.' She laughed happily as she unfolded the summer dress. She placed it against her chest and looked up at Alfred, waiting to hear his verdict.

The dress was simple, yet magnificent. It was pure silk and cream coloured. The neck was high with a skillfully crocheted peter pan collar. The sleeves were cut off at the shoulders and the end of the dress bunched against the mattress, suggesting it was slightly longer than knee-length. It had a button down design and the buttons were carved out of expensive, little cream pearls. The summer dress had a shirred waist that was hidden by a cerulean coloured bow that tied in the back. The bow brought out her blue eyes.

Alfred's heart melted. Hannah would break hearts one day.

'You are the most beautiful fallen angel I have ever had the pleasure of laying my unworthy eyes upon, Miss Hannah.' Alfred complimented in his accented voice, and Hannah gave an excited shout.

'I can't wait to show off my new dress, Alfred!' Hannah expressed. She was standing up again now and bouncing on the bed, the dress twirling with every jump. Then she stopped, as though a thought had just occurred to her, then she asked, 'Is Bruce coming too?'

Alfred shook his head. 'Not today, Miss Hannah.'

'But-But,' Hannah started, crestfallen. 'I _never_ get to go out! I wanted Bruce to show me everywhere he goes when he leaves the house.'

Alfred sighed. The Wayne siblings may have been the centre of his world, but Hannah lived for Bruce. She constantly wanted to be with him. She followed him around the mansion like a shadow, content to watch him when she wasn't allowed to participate in what he was doing. Hannah hated being alone. And she loved Bruce. She cherished their time together; he couldn't do wrong in her eyes. And, unlike most seventeen year old boys, Bruce basked in his sisters attention. Bruce might never admit it, but he would be lost without Hannah.

Bruce, however, was very overprotective of her, and disliked Hannah going out in public after the media swarmed the poor, frightened girl in the past. It was surprising, then, that Hannah had recently begun to insist she wanted to go outside. The only person who had rejected the idea was Bruce, but when Hannah stopped talking to him for a whole day, Bruce grudgingly made a compromise: Hannah would be allowed out in the world for her birthday, but would be attentively watched over by Nanny Mary Margaret. Bruce had also wanted a bodyguard for her, but after Hannah went back to ignoring him, he reluctantly agreed to let her go without one.

'I'm sorry, Miss Hannah.' Alfred said.

Hannah's shoulders drooped. 'Fine.' She surrenderd forlornly.

'That doesn't mean you can't have fun without him,' Alfred tried to comfort. 'And you have that beautiful new dress to put on. And Nanny Mary Margaret will be with you—you love spending time with her.'

Hannah glanced down at the dress in her hands and a small smile played at her lips. 'Yeah,' she agreed quietly.

'I'll let you get dressed, then, Miss Hannah.' Alfred announced. 'And don't forget your tea and blueberry muffins on the table.' He nodded his head in the direction of the tray, then he turned towards the door, reached out to turn the golden doorknob and opened the door. With one last glance over his shoulder, where he spotted Hannah slowly climbing off her bed towards her breakfast, he walked out of the door and close it gently behind him.

* * *

Nanny Mary Margaret's hand was warm and secure in Hannah's own.

The duo were currently walking through Gotham City's central park, admiring the colourful and diverse flowerbeds the park had to offer. During her—almost—seven years Hannah had only ever been to the park a handful of times; twice with Bruce, and three times without him. This would be the fourth time without him.

Hannah sighed, content. She was wearing her new handmade dress with pride. It fit her perfectly. When Nanny Mary Margaret had first seen her that morning, she had cried. Hannah, alarmed and insecure, had immediately jumped to the conclusion that she made the dress look awful, and was about to start bawling herself, until Nanny Mary Margaret clasped her hands against her generous bosom and managed through her sniffles, 'What a beautiful picture you make.' Her British accent had been particularly pronounced in her emotional state.

Since her Nanny's approval, Hannah couldn't help but flaunt her dress, just a little bit.

'Look, Hannah. Look at that beautiful butterfly!' Nanny Mary Margaret remarked and pointed in the direction of the white butterfly that fluttered gently in the light summer breeze.

'Oh,' Hannah exclaimed. The butterfly reminded her of her new dress; simple and beautiful.

When the butterfly was close enough, Hannah released her Nanny's hand and went to trap the butterfly between her hands. She wanted to keep it, it belonged with her and her dress. The butterfly expertly dodged, as though it had had to escape many a child's grasp during it's time. Hannah wasn't one to give up, however. She jumped after the butterfly, following it as it swivelled and swerved out of her reach, taunting her. With a small, childish growl, she made a leap for the butterfly, but was caught mid-air just before her hands could wrap around the butterfly. With the iron grasp around her middle, Hannah could only watch, admitting defeat, as the butterfly flew to freedom.

'Miss Hannah!' Nanny Mary Margaret scolded. She turned the child in her arms to face her. 'You should know better than to run off like that. Whatever would I do if you disappeared? I would be lost without you.'

Hannah blinked up at her Nanny innocently. 'Really?'

'Really, really.'

Hannah smiled. 'I'm sorry, Nanny Mary Margaret.'

Nanny Mary Margaret's eyebrows rose in disbelief. 'No you're not.'

Hannah's grin widened.

Nanny Mary Margaret had been in Hannah's life for as long as she could remember. The Nanny had been there with Alfred and Bruce through the long, exhausting nights when she was a baby. She had fed her and bathed her and clothed her and taught her. She was like a grandmother to the little girl.

The Nanny was plump and at least as old as Alfred, whom she had taken to flirting with at any given opportunity after noticing how flustered and annoyed he got after the first attempt. Her hair was a stunning shade of silver and was always piled formally into an elegant bun on top of her head. She held a loving gaze and when she smiled it became obvious that she had been quite a catch in her youth. She was strict but fair. Hannah had always likened her to her very own Mary Poppins; she was even British, hailing from the beautiful English hills of Cornwall.

'You are a cheeky little bugger,' Nanny Mary Margaret accused teasingly. Then something behind Hannah caught the Nanny's attention and she strained her neck. 'Oh my... Lauren!'

The older woman placed the child down and marched towards an elderly lady who had spotted them and was waving at the Nanny. Hannah followed, almost stumbling to keep up with the woman's longer legs.

'Lauren, it's been too long!' Nanny Mary Margaret greeted enthusiastically and hugged the unfamiliar woman.

Hannah tuned out the conversation at this point as a more familiar face appeared by the entrance of the park. Hannah's face lit into an eager smile. She knew that face anywhere.

_Rachel!_

Hannah turned to Nanny Mary Margaret, about to inform her of her intentions to go and converse with Rachel for a while, only to find her deep in conversation with her friend. Hannah paused as she remembered one of Nanny Mary Margaret's many lectures: ___'Now remember, Miss Hannah—Miss Hannah, pay attention! Remember: it is very impolite to interrupt one when one is talking.' _Hannah understood this basic act of courtesy, and so did not think twice when she wandered off towards Rachel, who had just exited the park, without any warning. Hannah had no qualms about leaving Nanny Mary Margaret, she knew once she reached Rachel her friend would guide her back to her Nanny.

Hannah skipped towards the exit. She couldn't wait to show Rachel her new dress and ask her if she would see her tomorrow for her birthday. Rachel was always so nice to her, it was a shame she didn't visit more often. Hannah knew Bruce enjoyed Rachel's rare visits as much as she did.

Hannah halted next to the large iron gates of the park and searched in the direction she knew Rachel had gone, only to find the teenage girl turning a sharp corner at the end of the street._'_Rachel!' Hannah called out, then placed a hand over her mouth. A deliciously devious idea came to the little girl. Rachel had made a habit over the years of greeting Hannah by sneaking up on her and making her jump in fright. Now was Hannah's time for payback. Hannah's grin was utterly wicked as she took off after the retreating form of her target.

Hannah was forced to run to keep up with the older girl. She could only catch glimpses of Rachel as she was swallowed up by crowds and as she entered new streets.

When Hannah turned her fourth corner, she finally decided now was the time to attack: they had just entered a deserted street, no one was around to hide Rachel from her attack.

_This is my chance! _Hannah thought gleefully. She could barely stifle her giggles; she liked being naughty.

Rachel had just crossed over to the opposite sidewalk. Hannah picked up her pace, running out onto the road, but her little legs were going too fast and, inevitably, she tripped over her feet and fell hard, scraping her hands and knees and one side of her face against the rough gravelled surface.

She laid sprawled out in the middle of the road for a long moment, shock paralysing her little body. Then a sharp pain flared up in her hands and knees and her face, and her chin began to quiver. She slowly climbed to her knees, ignoring the increased stinging sensation in her legs as a result, and lifted her hands palms up for inspection. Her eyes filled with tears as they took in the bloody scrapes that had been inflicted on her delicate skin and the small pieces of gravel that littered her palms. Hannah cradled her hands close to her body and lifted her head, ready to call out to Rachel for help, only to find herself all alone.

Rachel was nowhere to be found.

Panic seized her heart at once. Her pain suddenly wasn't her main priority.

'Rachel?' Hannah whimpered, and when there was no answer, she screamed louder, 'Rachel! Rachel!'

Hannah had never been on her own in the city before. She was hardly ever left alone in the Wayne household. She hadn't realised how far she had travelled from the park. She had no idea where she was. Scared, and not knowing what else to do, Hannah began to cry.

_'Rachel!'_

Then, out of nowhere, there was a loud screeching noise, and, startled, Hannah turned in the direction of the ominous noise, only to find the front of a large hood attached to a heavy car speeding towards her. The world seemed to slow down, and all she could do was watch, her eyes wide with fright, as the car closed in on her, but she couldn't move. Her heart stopped in absolute terror. Hannah screamed and screamed. Then, at the last second, the car swerved sideways and stopped harshly just feet from her shivering form.

There was a pause in the air. Hannah's unblinking eyes stared unseeingly at the side of the black car. Then she let out a trembling breath, and she felt sick and light-headed. Her heart was pounding in stark relief against her chest but she couldn't seem to get enough air in her lungs.

Breathless, her eyes refocused as a man was practically thrown out of the back car door. The man barely managed to find his footing and hurriedly straightened, tugging nervously at the worn collar of his dark navy coat, giving Hannah a glimpse of a colourless tattoo of a dove in mid-flight on the side of his neck.

___It's too warm to wear a coat today, _Hannah thought absently. The situation hadn't quite set in yet. She was in shock.

'H-Hey, um,' the man stuttered, creeping cautiously towards her shaking form. 'You... you okay, girlie? You're face looks pretty scratched up.'

Hannah's focus was then completely on the man. Her eyes narrowed, she was suspicious. Even she, the little rich girl too naïve to understand the workings of the outside world, knew that no one ever helped anyone else out in Gotham City. It was a golden rule in Gotham; everyone kept out of each other's business because too often that business meant nothing but trouble. Even assisting a lost child in searching for their missing parents was considered risky; more often than not the parents were found at the bottom of ditches stuffed in body bags.

Hannah chose to say nothing.

The man was twitchy and his eyes were constantly shifting. 'You, ah, you should be more careful... shouldn't be on roads... You-you alone, kid? You lost? I don't see anyone else around.'

Hannah continued to stay silent. A small coil of pure, unadulterated fear had begun to weave itself around her heart. The man was a lot bigger than her, and he hadn't come from the drivers seat, suggesting that there was at least one more person in the car. Unfortunately, the windows were tinted, so she couldn't see inside.

The man coughed loudly, and uncertain, glanced over his shoulder at the car, then turned back to her. 'You... you're the Wayne kid, right? You look a lot like her. I-I'm asking 'cause I know your brother.' He hurried out.

Hannah frowned, unsure of the bald man. If what he said was true, and he did know her brother, then he could take her home. But he didn't look like the type of person Bruce would associate himself with.

The man was too.._. ____scruffy._

When Hannah did reply, her voice croaked, her throat like sandpaper after her shrill screaming. 'How do you know Bruce Wayne?'

'Business partner.' He answered quickly. 'And as a favourite business partner of his, I think I should get his little lost sister home before he starts worrying, aye, kid?'

He was lying. Bruce didn't have business partners because Bruce had nothing to do with Wayne Enterprises. Bruce may own the company, but that was as far as his authority went. Wayne Enterprises was run under the strict command of the pompous CEO, William Earle. Even she knew that.

Hannah's heart was beginning to pick up momentum again. Adrenaline was flowing though her veins now and her entire body shook. Her body was reacting instinctively, she was in a fight or flight state of mind. She fought to keep her breathing even, and just as she began to prepare herself to get up and make a run for it, the tinted window of the back car door rolled down.

An astonishingly long, aquiline nose poked through the gap in the window, and two dark, beady eyes stared straight at Hannah. The right eye was protected by a golden rimmed monocle; it's sheer glass glinted malevolently in the sunlight.

'It's her, you _imbecile_. Get her in here, now!'

The man flinched at the belittling order, then hesitated for a moment, and in hindsight Hannah should have made a run for it then, but she was young and scared and before she knew it, he surged forward, clamping his arms tightly around her middle. The arms were like steel rods and knocked the breath flying from her lungs. She gasped painfully as she was lifted, her legs kicking out behind her in protest.

When Hannah was finally able to inhale a lungful of air, she wailed and yelped helplessly, 'Help! He—'

'Shut up!' The man spat and held her tighter.

Hannah could hardly breath.

Hannah might have heard an ordered 'Stop,' from a distance, but then she was being thrown unmindfully into the back seat of the car, and it didn't matter any more, because they had her. For whatever their reasons, they had her. She landed awkwardly on the black leather seat, a seatbelt digging discomfortingly into her spine.

Hannah scrambled to get up, but it was too late. The bald man had already climbed into the car and shut the door, locking it for good measure.

And then they were moving.

Hannah panted, despair brutally crushing down on her shoulders. She was panicking, her chest and fingertips numb from the lack of blood flow. Her eyes shot frenziedly to each and every unrecognisable face in the car.

There were three other men in the car besides the tattooed man. Two of them were similar in appearance to the bald man; they both looked around mid-thirties, shady, and wore tattered clothing. It was the third man that caught her morbid interest, however.

To Hannah, he resembled the criminal gentlemen from the old black and white movies Alfred peferred to watch; the evil men with huge moustaches and who would tie up young damsels in distress to train tracks. He was pudgy and wore an immaculate black tuxedo. Two white glove-clad hands lovingly caressed the handle of his black umbrella where it laid comfortably between his large thighs. He was smiling cunningly around a long, silver cigarette holder, his large nostrils flaring with delight at her terror. His eyes bore down on her curled form, one through the circular monocle, and Hannah realised he was the man who had ordered her kidnapping.

'Good morning, Miss Wayne.' He cackled madly, and it was a horrid, squawk-like sound. 'It seems it is my lucky day today. It's a rare occurrence these days to see you in the city.'

'Where we takin' her, boss?' Asked the driver.

'I believe the warehouse on the outskirts of the Narrows would be our best bet. We can phone the other Wayne brat from there, let him know we expect payment for, ah...' The boss glanced at her then with amusement, '… for finding is dear, lost sister.'

He grinned at her, revealing crooked, yellowing teeth. Then he was reaching for her. 'Come. Sit properly.'

He gripped Hannah's shoulder and suddenly it was all too much for her. She wanted Bruce. The thought that she might never see him again sent her teetering over the edge and she screamed, and screamed, and _screamed._

'Ugh!' The tattooed man cowered into his seat, his hands clasped firmly over his ears. 'Make her stop.'

The boss growled, his teeth clenching around his cigarette holder. 'Be quiet, insolent child!' He roared, but Hannah continued to cry. He shook her shoulder, causing her head to snap backwards and forwards with the violent movements, but still she continued. 'Shut up! Shut up!'

He lost his temper then.

He reached for his umbrella and brandished it like a sword, placing the tip of the umbrella between her eyes. He pressed a hidden button in the handle, and lightening-fast, the tip opened and a long switch knife flew from the tip, its bloodthirsty edge just a hair's breath away from her frail skin.

Hannah ceased her bawling immediately.

His grotesque grin made Hannah's stomach churn uncomfortably. 'There. Much better.' He sniggered repulsively and slowly, tauntingly lowered the knife. He pressed another hidden button and the knife folded back into the umbrella. He breathed in deeply, the end of his cigarette lighting into a vibrant orange glow with the inhale, and then he let out a cloud of toxic smoke right in her face, and Hannah coughed uncontrollably.

This seemed to please him greatly.

'U-Uh... Penguin?' The bald man called tentatively.

The boss Hannah could now identify as Penguin tore his disturbingly dark, penetrating gaze from her and scowled up at the taller man. 'What is it?' Penguin hissed, a dark, dangerous undertone in his voice.

'That copper's found us.' The henchman pointed a grimy finger in the direction of the rear window, his eyes squinting to see something in the distance.

The slightest hint of hope brightened in Hannah's eyes when Penguin looked out of the window and squawked in distress. Hannah turned in her seat to look outside and saw an old, beaten up, mud-brown car determinedly weaving its way through the traffic towards them.

A single, translucent tear rolled down her cheek in relief.

'That blasted Gordon is always sticking his nose into things that's none of his business.' Penguin growled distastefully. 'It'll get him killed one day—preferably today!' His head snapped towards the driver. 'You know what to do.'

And then the driver swerved harshly to the left, and Hannah flew into Penguin, then to the right, and she fell into the tattooed man. There was the sound of gunshots, but her hearing was muffled and she felt disorientated. The swaying continued for far too long for Hannah, and then she really did felt sick. She could taste acid on her tongue, and before she knew what was happening, she was heaving all over the bald man who had taken her, emptying her delicate stomach all over his lap.

'Ugh,' he moaned, revolted.

'Why is he gaining on us?' Penguin demand, unperturbed by his henchman's misfortune. His frightening eyes never left the rear window. After another few swerves, he finally snarled, 'Get rid of her!'

'Bu-But, Penguin!' The man in the passenger seat protested, speaking for the first time. 'You said we need her—'

'You buffoon,' Penguin barked, and Hannah, holding her uneasy stomach, had well and truly had enough at this point. She just wanted to close her eyes and be back in her secure bed, where the only thing close to threatening was Alfred's tickle attacks. But it wasn't so, and Penguin continued, 'You know I cannot afford to go back to jail right now! If we throw her out now, he'll have to stop, and we'll have enough time to get away before Gordon calls for back up.'

Then Penguin turned, bracing himself against his car door. 'Open the door, now!' He dictated to the tattooed man, and the man hastened to do as was asked of him. He clicked open the opposite car door. The kinetic energy of the rushing wind outside repeatedly forced the door closed, so he jammed his foot between the car floor and the door to keep it open.

Then Penguin lifted his spat-clad foot, reared the stubby leg back, and shot forward, kicking Hannah in the chest. She flew out of the moving car, screaming helplessly, and landed heavily on her back, hitting her head, and stars burst into her vision. The momentum caused her to roll a couple of feet to a dead stop on her stomach in the middle of the road.

This time she didn't even have a second to take in the car heading straight for her. This time she couldn't even scream before it was too close. Hannah's breathing stopped, positive she was about to die. The tires filled her vision, she could feel the heat rolling off the car, the screaming breaks hurt her ears.

Then the car stopped.

A tire brushed up ever so slightly against her nose.

Hannah whimpered, unsure how she could possibly be alive.

She heard a door slam and hurried footsteps, and it was then she felt the immobilizing pain shooting up her back and throbbing in her head. Hannah gasped, the pain so intense she felt winded by it; she couldn't even make a sound to verbalise her agony.

Then someone was kneeling beside her, talking to her. They sounded quite frantic, and Hannah wished she could reassure them, but their words were forever getting jumbled in her foggy brain. Then a kind hand was brushing her long waves of hair out of her face and the contact seemed to jolt her back into the real world from the pain-filled haze she had stumbled into.

'Can you move?' She heard. The voice held a deep timbre and she instantly, finally, felt secure and protected, and she almost started weeping.

Someone had _rescued_ her.

Hannah wanted so badly to please this person, _her hero,_ so despite her pain, she carefully moved her arms, and relief swept through her in crashing waves as she did so without difficulty. She folded her arms into her sides, placing her injured palms flat on the roads uneven surface, and then she pushed up, her arms shaking and her back burning.

But she could move.

Two aiding arms wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her into a wall of comforting warmth, and together they gingerly managed to turn her and get her into a sitting position.

Hannah looked up, her heart filled to the brim with gratitude, and there was her hero.

Two amber-brown eyes, anxious and concerned, and a furrowed brow causing worry-lines along a small forehead. Thin lips pulled downwards in distress. A thick moustache that matched the dark brown locks of a conveniently short hairstyle, neatly combed back from an oval shaped face, slightly aged with time.

He didn't even remotely resemble the hero's from Bruce's old comic books; buff and handsome and extraordinarily strong.

But Hannah liked that.

He was unsuspecting, ordinary.

It made her believe any normal person could become a hero.

When Hannah thinks back on this day years from now, she'll realise just how significant this moment in her life was; this was the day she first started believing in the good of humanity; when she decided wanted to be just like the brave, humble man that sat before her.

* * *

Her hero, who had introduced himself as Sergeant James Gordon after gently and safely buckling Hannah into the car he had borrowed to chase her capturer with, had just left her in a hard-backed seat in the main office of the GCPD, promising to phone her brother of her whereabouts. He had given her a glass of water to help calm her nerves, which she was tapping absent-mindedly with the nail of her smallest finger.

The pain in her back had dulled by now to a bearable soreness. Before placing her in the car, Gordon had lifted her ruined dress to check her back. Thankfully, there was little damage; both shoulder blades had small scratches and her back was coloured with large black and blue bruises. But after receiving a thorough examination from the nice paramedics when she had first entered the police building, where they assured her nothing was broken and that she was lucky not to have a concussion, they had given her strong aspirins that she had been grateful to accept.

Hannah sighed, exhausted.

She should have felt safe. She was surrounded by police officers who dedicate their lives to keeping criminals like Penguin off the streets.

But Hannah had always been an observant child.

She could see how tense Gordon was in his own environment. Almost as if he had to constantly watch his back. Hannah trusted her hero enough to believe he could sense when danger was lurking, so despite her fatigue, she stayed alert.

She couldn't deal with another Penguin today.

Gordon was walking back towards her, and Hannah became eager to know what had transpired during the conversation with her brother.

But then a dark skinned man in an officers uniform advanced on Gordon and snarled, 'Gordon! You let him get away—again. That's twice you've let Penguin—one of the city's most dangerous mobsters, need I remind you—escape now.'

'He threw a child in front of my car. I had to stop. You're the one who took your damn time calling your back up team into action.'

The man's face pinched unattractively. 'My fault? If you would just do your job properly and actually catch—'

'U-Um, I think... I know where Penguin is.' Hannah spoke up. She could vaguely remember during her terror filled moments with Penguin and his goons, that they had been discussing where they planned to take her. 'Penguin talked about a-a... a warehouse! Yes, a warehouse, just outside the Narrows! He was going to take me there.'

'I know where that warehouse is. There's only one on the outskirts,' another officer voiced.

Gordon and the dark skinned officer stared at her for a beat, then the latter nodded his head in thanks to her and turned to command the officer who had just inadvertently declared himself useful. 'Get your team together. I want you on the road in two minutes. I'll radio the back up team and let them know where to head.'

Then there was a flurry in the office, and amongst it all, Gordon came and knelt down in front of her, and she felt special. She was his first priority. 'How are you feeling?' He enquired, genuinely concerned.

'Better.' Hannah reassured him. 'Not in as much pain.'

'That's good.' Gordon smiled kindly. 'I've talked to your brother. He's on his way as we speak.'

Hannah's entire being lit up at the mention of her brother. Soon she would be in Bruce's arms, safe from Penguin, safe from the entire world. She could hardly wait. The sheer, pure happiness she felt caused her blue eyes to swim with tears, and she bent her head to hide them.

'Why...' Hannah swallowed back the lump in her throat. 'Why did Penguin take me, Mr. Gordon?'

Gordon searched her downcast eyes, then he sighed through his nose. 'My best guess is that he wanted to use you as a bargaining tool as a way of getting a hold of your bothers fortune.'

'A...?' Hannah felt lost.

Gordon clarified, 'He wanted your brothers money, and thought kidnapping you would be the easiest way to obtain it.'

'But why would he want my brothers money?'

Gordon shook his head, as though he too couldn't understand, but then he answered in a tired, almost defeated tone, 'Money is everything to some. More important than love, friendship, family. They will do the most despicable things for it. Like kidnap a defenceless child.'

Hannah frowned. Suddenly, Penguin wasn't quite so scary any more. 'That sounds like such a lonely life to live.' And she was sad, then, that people like Penguin would never experience the greater things in life because of their greed. A part of her wished to help them see, so that they, too, could be happy, _truly_ happy; the world would be a better place, then. 'Someone should tell him what he's missing out on. He won't want to hurt people then.'

Gordon looked astonished, and an emotion Hannah couldn't place flickered like a hopeful light bulb without enough electricity in his eyes. 'I... Yes, I suppose it is. We'll have to try that.' Then he titled his head, and Hannah felt like a complexed puzzle Gordon just couldn't solve.

Then Gordon smiled. 'Come on.' He turned his back to her and glanced over his shoulder. 'Let's go wait for your brother outside, it's much more quiet out there. I'll even give you a piggy back ride.'

Hannah grinned toothily and placed her glass of water on the nearest desk. She climbed clumsily onto his sturdy back, and her arms clasped around his neck, then Gordon was up and walking towards the entrance of the building.

Hannah strained her neck to see Gordon's face, then enquired, 'Are you the same Gordon that helped Bruce?' Bruce had told her of a James Gordon's act of kindness towards him during his time of suffering and was positive the Gordon who saved her was the same person.

'I—well,' Gordon was flustered, and unbelievably modest. 'I never helped the boy, I was just one of the many officers called to the scene of his parents murder.'

'But you were the only one to comfort him.' Hannah pointed out. 'He likes you.'

Gordon smiled, but said nothing.

They were outside now, and Gordon paused for a moment to breathe in the clean air. 'You want to know something?' He asked her and started to descend the stone steps. Hannah nodded. 'I think you were very brave today.'

Hannah's heart squeezed with pride at his flattering words, but she didn't believe it herself. Hannah snorted, and her heart panged when she thought of the fit Nanny Mary Margaret would be sure to have if she heard such an unladylike sound coming from her precious charge. Hannah hoped her Nanny didn't blame herself for the kidnapping. 'Brave? I cried and screamed and threw up on one of Penguin's henchmen. That's not brave.'

Gordon let out a boisterous guffaw and placed her down on a tall wall just outside the station. 'You threw up on one of the henchmen?' Gordon repeated, disbelieving, and turned to face her, now almost eye-to-eye with her with Hannah's added height.

'Yeah,' she muttered, embarrassed.

The sun was warm on the crown of her head, and the light breeze blew languidly over her heated skin like the teasing fingertips of a familiar lover, generously carrying with it the faint sounds of the bustling city of Gotham to her welcoming ears. Only hours before she had been convinced she would never see the light of day again, never hear the sounds of traffic or just sit and watch the world go by. She had never felt more privileged to be alive before this moment.

'B that as it may, I still believe you were—are very brave.' Gordon admitted. 'You kept a surprisingly level head in the station, _and_ you managed to gain information on the whereabouts of your kidnapper.' Gordon's eyes softened here, and he looked at her as though he was in the presence of something he had long ago given up hope of finding, something that was rare and delicate and had to be handled with the greatest of care. 'And you're compassionate. Any coward could pick up a knife and hurt the one who has aggrieved them, but it takes a very brave person—someone strong enough to overcome corruption—to forgive. You're brave because you can see everyone deserves a second chance.'

Hannah gawked at the man, overcome with gratitude and awe, and she tried to speak, to tell him just how much his words meant to her, but she was utterly flabbergast, and couldn't find her voice for the world.

Gordon sighed, and it was a sad, wistful sound. 'We need more people like you on the force.'

Hannah's breathing stuttered with the honour that filled her chest, and she could feel something close to excitement brewing in the pit of her stomach.

Hannah Wayne, the police officer.

She liked the sound of that.

'I-I... really? You'd want me to be a police officer?'

Gordon nodded vigorously. 'You would make an excellent addition to the GCPD.'

Hannah smiled at him then, at this wonderful man, her hero, Sergeant James Gordon, and promised herself then that she would do whatever it takes to become a police officer and make Gordon proud. She would help keep the streets of Gotham clean from crime, so that one day children like herself may swarm the streets without fear. Hannah would bring justice to Gotham City.

And no one would stand in her way.

Hannah would become incorruptible.

* * *

Hannah was kidnapped twice more; the second just a couple of months later, and again when she was nine years old, before Bruce refused to allow her into the city again.

Hannah would have been more upset had she not noticed a change in her beloved cousin, who she thought of as a bother. From the moment he picked her up from the police station after the first kidnapping attempt, the way his fists had clenched, the way his jaw had ticked, the tight embrace he wouldn't let her out from until they had reached their home, the dark, bitter shine in his eyes when he had seen her scratched face.

Bruce became angry, and bitter, and sullen.

And he only got worse after the next two kidnappings. Hannah again was lucky enough to walk away, both times, with just a few cuts and bruises, her resolve to become part of the police force only strengthening every time. All of her kidnappers, including Penguin, were caught.

But it wasn't enough for Bruce.

After the third and final attempt, Bruce had finally exploded, and unfortunately for Alfred, he had had to bear the brunt of his Master's fury. 'Why do you always side against me, Alfred,' he had cried, his eyes intense, almost wild, 'when it comes to letting Hannah go out? What has this twisted city got to offer a little girl? Rape, drugs or death. Or all of the above. Every single one of them, Alfred, would be willing to suck every last drop of innocence from her if it benefited them in some way—every, single, one! Why would I let her loose into a city where kidnappings are a daily occurrence and no one bats an eyelid over the little boy crying over his parents cold bodies? She stays inside from now on.'

Bruce became someone Hannah didn't recognise. A stranger. He wasn't the boy who would brush her hair for her when she was ill, who would carry her on his back up the stairs only to pretend to fall just before reaching the top, who didn't know any lullabies so instead would sing his favourite Beatles song, ___'Heeeyy Jude, doon't make it baaaaaad, take a saaad sooooong, and maake it beeetttteeeerrrrr,' _very off key.

Hannah _missed_ her brother.

But no matter what she tried, nothing was bringing him back to her.

Then came the day Bruce found out about Joe Chill's hearing, and he snapped.

* * *

A/N: Holy popcorn, Batman! I _did not _expect such a response for my prologue. Thank you to _everyone_ who has reviewed, as sad as it sounds they really make my day.

And yes, that was indeed Penguin for all you fans of Batman comics.

Anywho, again, review if you enjoyed this chapter—I'm honestly not sure what I think about it yet, but I'm not 100 per cent happy with it... oh well. Jonathan is in the next chapter, by the way!

-imagineyourownworld


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